Brother Knows Best
by cactusnell
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has a theory about his brother, which Sherlock needs to prove, or disprove. Sherlolly.


Dr. Molly Hooper, pathologist, was elbow-deep in the chest cavity of one of her cadavers when the door of the morgue flew open and Sherlock Holmes, the man of her dreams, and simultaneously her nightmares, made his way, flamboyantly as ever, over to where she was working, saying without preamble, "Molly, I need your assistance."

"As you can see, Mr. Detective, I'm a bit busy at the moment," she replied without rancor.

"Yes, I can see that. You're about to remove the poor man's heart, a bit of a coincidence, as my problem concerns 'matters of the heart', as it were."

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?"

"My brother Mycroft has proposed a thesis, which he has left to me to prove, or disprove. His thesis involves feelings, sentiment, and, as you are most certainly aware, this is an area in which you have far more expertise than I."

"Sherlock, this gentleman on the table, even in his current condition, has far more expertise than you!"

"Point taken, Dr. Hooper. Are you willing to help me?"

"When have I not been willing to help you, Sherlock?" Molly answered, sounding just a bit put out by his question. "So, what kind of sentiment are we talking about in particular?"

"Love, Molly. I need to know how one knows if one is in love."

"Well, surely you could look on-line. I'm sure there must be some websites offering psychological insights into how to determine if…"

"There are dozens, Molly. But, I'd like to hear it from someone who has experienced the emotion firsthand, please."

Molly Hooper was starting to blush. Everyone had, for quite some time, been well aware that the woman had been heavily infatuated with the dashing detective for ages. Sherlock himself surely knew, and had, in the past, taken full advantage of the fact, flirting shamelessly to get whatever he needed out of "his" pathologist. She had to admit that his behavior had been much improved lately, but she wasn't sure if this had been because he had developed a conscience, or if he believed her feelings for him had changed to the point where flirting would no longer work.

"Sherlock, how would you know if I had ever been 'in love', anyway?"

"Come now, Molly, you are an attractive single woman with much to offer. Kind, and outgoing, and optimistic. You must have been in love with someone at some point in your life! Balance of probability, after all!"

And Molly moved her gaze from the messy chest cavity in front of her to the tall, attractive man standing across from her, the man she did, indeed, love with all her heart, and said, "You are such a git, Sherlock."

"But you have been in love, Molly? Am I correct?""

"Of course you are. Aren't you always?"

"So, are you going to help me, or not, Molly?"

"That depends. Are you going to tell me Mycroft's thesis, so I know the problem I am addressing?"

"Perhaps later. It depends on the results of my investigation to a large extent." Sherlock said, looking a bit more uncomfortable than usual, as he always did when dealing with the more sentimental aspects of life. "So, Molly, explain to me how one knows when one is 'in love', as opposed to merely having a crush, or simply lusting after someone."

"I suppose having a crush on someone, and lusting after them, are pretty much similar to each other, but each really only involves the physical aspects of a relationship, doesn't it? I mean, a person may physically attracted to another person, based purely on looks, and know next to nothing about that person's personality. Teenage boys thinking about that model in their posters on the wall are not overly concerned about her brains, are they, Sherlock?" She looked at him questioningly, wondering if he had ever had a poster on his bedroom wall, aside from the one she knew about, the periodic table of elements.

"No, I don't suppose so," the detective said, thinking back to his days at boarding school.

"So, the first thing is, I believe, you truly have to know, and like, the person before you can really fall in love."

This had shaken him a bit, Sherlock had long believed that no one could ever truly like him. He was an arrogant, selfish git, and he knew it. Perhaps he had been mistaken about the petite woman's feeling for him all this time? How could she love him if he was so truly unlikeable? He heard himself asking, before he could stop himself, "Molly, do you like me?"

"Of course I do, Sherlock?"

"Why?"

The pathologist could tell that the detective was sincere. He truly didn't feel that anyone could possibly like him! She could see how damaged he was, and tried to ease his mind a bit. "I like you because I know you for the kind man you try to hide, Sherlock. I like your brilliant mind, and your snarky sense of humor. I like you because you help people, and take care of your friends. What's not to like?"

"Plenty! I'm arrogant, and selfish, and anti-social…"

"That's all on the surface! I'd rather know someone who was all those things, on the surface, and kindly underneath, than friendly and kind on the surface, and a complete bastard beneath it all!"

"Well, thank you, Molly. That's very kind of you to say so," the detective replied, knowing that Molly Hooper was one of those rare people who were as good and kind in the depths of their soul as they were on the surface. It was so very easy to like her, he thought. "Next?"

"Well, you think of the person a lot. I mean, a whole lot! The last thing at night, and the first thing in the morning. And, here's something you may understand, you become almost addicted to them. There have been studies which indicates that love can change brain chemistry, heightening neural activity in the dopamine rich areas of the brain, and in the reward seeking area of the brain, and even the obsessive thinking areas. Such studies may offer physical proof for the existence of love, Sherlock. Is that what you need for your investigation?"

The detective was impressed by her knowledge of brain chemistry. He was, of course, just as familiar with these aspects of addiction, as he had investigated the matter when fighting his own addiction to drugs. And he had to admit that the calming effect produced by Molly's presence closely approached the effect produced by his previous drug of choice, cocaine. "Is there anything else you can add, Molly?"

"Well, of course, there is the physical aspect of the relationship. You must find the object of your interest sexually attractive, or what's the point? If you're in love, Sherlock, you want to have sex with that person, whether they're pin-up material or not! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say!"

Sherlock looked at the small woman intently, and thought that anyone beholding Molly Hooper would indeed, find her beautiful, himself included. Then he realized that Molly had continued to speak.

"You miss them when you're not with them, whether it's for a few hours or a few days. You really want to be around them. And you want your friends and family to like them, and approve of your choice. But, when it comes down to it, you would choose them over friends and family every time, although not happily."

Sherlock found himself thinking, _Molly or Mycroft? No contest!_

"And being in love changes you, Sherlock. Hopefully, for the better! You find that you want to be a better person, maybe to be worthy of the one you love. Smarter, kinder, prettier!

Sherlock found himself thinking that perhaps he could be kinder, but he was certainly smart and pretty enough as it was. Hopefully even for Molly Hooper! And then it occurred to him that perhaps Mycroft was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He was in love with the small woman who stood in front of him. This would explain everything. He had known Molly for years, and had always liked her, as much as he liked John. He enjoyed being around her, making excuses to be in her presence, from unnecessary experiments to unneeded assistance on a case. And he had always found her beautiful, even if she did not think of herself that way. And he would choose her companionship above all others, he realized now. Even John's. He tried to rationalize this by explaining to himself that this was entirely selfish, as Molly was a far better cook, and more concerned for his welfare than John, but in his soul he knew it was because her presence nourished that very soul, and gladdened the heart he was loathe to admit he possessed. And while heart and soul were definitely important, he also had to admit that Molly Hooper had a distinct effect on certain portions of his anatomy that were definitely unaffected by one John Watson! Additionally, hadn't he been trying to be a better person since his return from the dead? John's admonitions had decreased dramatically, and he had brought tears to Molly's eyes far less often since his return. Of course, he thought about her all the time. She had taken up residence in his mind palace ages ago, and simply would not be evicted, no matter how hard he tried. But, he had to admit, he had not tried very hard, for she had brought a comforting sense of home to the formerly austere corridors of the forbidding structure. Yes, Mycroft was right, as usual. Sherlock Holmes loved Molly Hooper. But what to do now, now that he had admitted it to himself?

The detective had been silent for a few moments, and the pathologist had recognized the symptoms of his "buffering mode", when his brain was processing information internally, and therefore unavailable for external communications. After a short time, she spoke softly, "Sherlock?"

"Ah, Molly. Sorry about that! Thank you for your help!"

"Sherlock, aren't you going to tell my about Mycroft's theory? Have you proved it, or disproved it? What's going on?"

"Well, Dr. Hooper, as with any theory, it may require a bit of experimentation before it can be proved true. Perhaps you could join me this evening at Baker Street?"

"Of course, Sherlock, if you need my assistance. Should I bring any particular body parts?"

The detective couldn't help but snicker at the woman's unintentional double entendre. "Your own should prove more than sufficient, Dr. Hooper." And with that, the detective leaned forward to plant his customary kiss on the pathologist's cheek. But Molly was more than slightly surprised when, at the last moment, he diverted his lips from their usual destination to land gently, but frmly, on her own, perhaps, she hoped, foreshadowing more experiments to come.

"Shall I pick up some takeaway, Sherlock? On the way over."

"Not necessary, Molly. I shall provide dinner. You may want to feed your cat, though, in case our experimentations runs a bit long." He spoke with an enigmatic smile, which might have been seductive on anyone other than Sherlock Holmes.

"How long, then?" Molly asked hesitantly.

"Do you remember the term 'all-nighter', from uni, Molly? We may have to pull an all-nighter, I'm afraid."

Molly wasn't at all afraid, but rather, hopeful. "Got it! Feed the cat, and prepare to spend the night. But I have to back at work in the morning, Sherlock."

"If my experiment is a success, I'm sure you won't mind calling out, Dr. Hooper. And you may be simply too exhausted to return to work tomorrow!" Sherlock giggled a bit as he spoke, very unlike himself. "So, I shall expect you this evening, then? Around seven?"

""Yes. Seven, then!" Molly replied, looking forward to whatever the evening would bring, knowing she would enjoy it because she would be with him.

Sherlock turned to leave her, heading toward the door, smiling as he walked. For the first time ever, he found himself overjoyed that his know-it-all of a brother had, in fact, been correct.


End file.
